Cold, Refined Crime
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Sherlock is ripping at the seams with boredom, after London seems to take a break from crime when it starts to snow. Molly knows how to handle her husband's mind numbing boredom, with a bit of exhilaration.


A prompt fill for our lovely Nocturnias, aka Sherlolly, who was feeling a bit under-loved. Which is just absurd, because she's one of the reasons I started writing fanfiction in the first place! So, when asked to do a prompt where Molly starts a snowball fight with Sherlock, my response was 'Well, of course I can, my darling! :D'

**I do not own Sherlock, Molly, the BBC, Baker Street, London, or snow.** **All rights belong to ACD, Moffat/Gatiss/the BBC, The Queen, and God.**

That's a lot of power in that disclaimer, dang.

Enjoy!

**Cold, Refined Crime**

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It had started snowing early in the year, and Molly was enjoying every flake that fell over an otherwise dreary London. Unlike the sweet and happy pathologist, however, Sherlock grew more and more frustrated with the winter weather setting in. In short, the man was dreadfully bored.

OoOo

"I don't see how something so stupid as snow can suddenly halt the crime activity in such a largely populated city. Surely _someone_ wants to kill someone else." Sherlock griped at the window, just as another fresh set of clouds rolled in. From the kitchen, he could just make out the sound of Molly chuckling softly.

"It's not funny, Molly. I swear, every year, people seem to adopt a more tolerable attitude toward one another, thus cutting my work to a fraction. I'm wasting away in here. My mind is rebelling. I need to work. I need something to focus on." he snipped to her. He turned to find her standing in the doorway, two cups of coffee in her hands. She shook her head as she walked to him, handing him one of the warm mugs.

"Don't get angry with the snow, Sherlock. It's not the snow's fault." she said with a false disappointment in her voice. Sherlock rolled his eyes, before taking a sip of the coffee. He watched as Molly set her own mug down, and proceeded to grab his from his hand, placing it on the table. She then pulled on both his hands, signalling him to stand.

"Molly, what're you…"

"Come on. We're going out. It's no good for you being cooped up in this flat. It's certainly not doing anything for your attitude, or mine. So, up. We're going outside." Molly pulled him to a standing position now, and effectively forcefully nudged him toward the door. Before he could object, Sherlock found himself catching his coat in hand, and watching in silent astonishment as she donned her own. As soon as he had looped his scarf around his neck, she was grabbing his hand, towing him down the stairs and out the main door.

Once they were outside, Sherlock looked around. He wouldn't admit to already feeling minutely better, even just with escaping the confines of 221B. However, as Molly pulled him further away from the flat, and further down the street, he couldn't help but wonder what she was doing.

Suddenly, she stopped. He looked to her, searching for possible clues as to why they had suddenly halted in their stroll down the deserted street. He found her looking up at the sky, a bright smile on her face. Sherlock looked up, and a snowflake drifted onto his nose. He couldn't help his shoulders from slumping, a move which didn't go unnoticed by his lovely lady.

"More? Don't we have enough snow as it is? I'll never get a case at this point. All of London will be too busy snuggling in their beds to go out and commit any decent crimes. This is just - PPFFTT!" his rant came to an immediate stop, as his nose, eyes, and mouth were clogged with snow. He sputtered and spat out the icy cold clumps, finally brushing away the last of it with his hand. He looked to Molly once more, to see her face lit up with a cocky grin.

"What was that for?" Sherlock asked.

"Because, you're being a grump, and because it's snowing, and because I can!" Molly answered, before bending down, her hands cupping a small mound of snow.

"Molly…" Sherlock took a step back, a warning glance in his brilliantly blue eyes. The small woman packed the bundle of snow together, forming a nearly perfect ball.

"Sherlock…" she answered, the grin on her face growing by the second as she followed him by taking a small step forward. Just as he was about to tell her to stop, she threw the snowball to him, successfully hitting him on the top of the head. The snowball broke into pieces within the prison of his curly hair, and Molly bit back a fit of laughter as she watched her detective attempt to shake the cold wads out. She had bent down to reload her hand, and looked up just in time to see a flurry of white come flying at her face. She blocked it with her arm at the last second, and looked wide eyed at him.

"Sherlock!" Molly yelled, trying her best to pretend to be upset. The coy look on his face, however, sent her into giggles, and she quickly tried assembling another packed snowball in her hand. She flung it blindly, and heard it land against him, she looked up, seeing him brush the snow off his chest, and then looking up and tossing another of his own snowballs her way. She shrieked, running backward and just out of the line of fire. Sherlock advanced, reaching down to pick up more snow. Molly copied the action, frantically trying to make two at a time. She could see the mischievous glint in his eye as he glanced her way, before hurdling his snowball across the distance, aiming right for her face once more. She backed up again, allowing it to hit her coat somewhere in the middle of her stomach. She brushed it off, and looked back up. However, this time, she didn't see him packing more snow together. In fact, he didn't have any snow in his hands. Rather, he was racing directly toward her, and not looking to slow until he reached her.

"No! No, don't you dare!" Molly screamed, her laughter echoing throughout the night air as she dropped the few snowballs she had collected, running away from the quick man. He caught up to her in almost no time at all, and looped his arms around her middle, pulling her down to the ground with him. Sherlock reached to the ground, grabbed a handful of snow, and smashed it directly into Molly's face. She squealed with the cold suddenly on her face, the rest of her body thrashing about to try and get free.

"You've just created war for yourself, Mrs. Holmes." Sherlock said lowly in her ear. Molly's only response was to laugh, before surprising him by rolling over, her body sprawled out over his. She secured his arms above his head with her hands, trying to keep a second fistful of snow from meeting her face. As she smiled down at him, she saw the tension in his body and mind from earlier had disappeared almost entirely.

"Feel better?" She asked quietly, a soft smile gracing her cold face. Sherlock's head pulled back a bit as he came to the realization that he no longer felt as though he were ripping at the seams.

"Yes actually, I do. You're quite clever, Molly." he said, nodding his head, his arms relaxing under her hold. Molly sighed out a bit, before her own grip lessened. Opportunity struck instantly, and Sherlock retaliated, shoving his hand down the back of her coat and sweater, and dispensing the large clod of snow that he had held onto. Molly cried out as the frozen slush slowly melted against her back, and she immediately jumped up, her body squirming to free the cold water from touching her skin. Sherlock stood, and quickly grabbed her around her waist again. However, this time, he simply picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder and marching back toward the flat.

"What are you doing, you brute of a man?" Molly asked through giggling bouts. As Sherlock entered the 221B, he stormed up the stairs with careless abandon, not stopping until they were well within the walls of their bedroom. He plopped her down onto the bed, and immediately set to stripping off his coat and scarf.

"Well, I've just discovered a terrible crime has been committed." Sherlock said, his voice rising with an imperial sound.

"Oh, have you? And what, may I ask, is this crime?" Molly responded, her voice adopting the same tone.

"Some unfortunate woman has been outside for too long, and is now chilled to the bone. I'm making it my priority to see she is _properly_ warmed up." Sherlock leaned down, kissing Molly's cool lips with his own, until the friction between them had warmed their mouths enough.

"Lucky her. I'm sure she'll be very grateful and compensate you _handsomely_ for your work." Molly mumbled back, her icy fingers reaching up and sliding around his neck. She pulled him back down, rejoining their lips in another kiss.

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The next morning, Molly woke to find that his side of the bed had been abandoned. She sat up, and looked out to see the sun shining brightly, casting a terribly light reflection on the fresh blanket of snow that covered the ground. She then looked to Sherlock's side of the bed, and saw a note laying on his pillow.

_'Case. An eight. Won't be back until tonight. Stay warm.'_

_'I love you.' -SH_

Molly smiled to herself, before curling back up underneath the covers, resolving to do just as her husband instructed.

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There you are, my lovelies. I hope you enjoyed this. I sort of really want it to start snowing now. lol. Thanks for reading, leave a review, if you would please. Don't forget to brush your feet off beforehand. ;)


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